


Means to an End

by edibleflowers



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris has a twisted way of getting what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Means to an End

**Author's Note:**

> um. Chris starts trouble in my brain. Bad Chris. No sugar for you.

Chris has a way of stating the obvious sometimes.

"Did you know Lance likes you?" he says to Justin one afternoon. They've just finished a press conference for some local newspapers, and afterwards, Lance and JC wandered off to mess around with the golf carts, while Joey talked to a couple of children who had come with the reporters.

He and Justin are headed down to the toy room now, since they have to spend the rest of the afternoon at the venue. Justin never stops walking, though he raises an eyebrow, casting Chris a look at once skeptical and amused. "Yeah, right."

"Nope, I'm serious."

"Bullshit."

"No, really." Chris darts forward, hops up to balance on an I-beam that lays along the wall like a giant's forgotten plaything. "He's got it bad for you."

"What makes you say that?" Justin's voice carries the slightest tone of suspicion. Chris shrugs.

"I can tell. I'm smart like that."

"Are not."

"Are too." Chris waits until Justin passes him, leaps on his back. Justin's hands curve under Chris's thighs easily, carting him along for a few steps before dropping him. Chris lets out an "oof" as he lands, rolling to soften the impact. "Fuck, Timberlake."

"Bite me, Kirkpatrick."

"Ooh, can I?"

When Justin sees Lance in the wide hallway, he tries to act like everything's normal, but already he feels strange. What if Chris was right, or just yanking his chain? But Lance just slaps him on the back like usual, jogging after Joey, who's zipping along on a razor scooter, Lance's day planner tucked under one arm, and Justin thinks that if Lance does like him, he's been concealing it very well.

* * *

Now that Justin doesn't want to talk to Lance, Lance is everywhere he goes. And every time Lance looks at him, Justin thinks he's seeing some deep-eyed look, full of meaning. Justin thinks he must be going crazy.

One time he tries to talk to Lance, but he can't form a word, beyond "did you want to watch this one?" as he holds out a movie at random, and Lance raises an eyebrow and says "not for the forty thousandth time; put _The Waterboy_ on, moron," and Justin gives up and does it.

* * *

He sits down next to Chris in the bus after a few days and says, "Liar."

"What?" says Chris, not really paying attention.

"About Lance."

"Dude, I'm busy."

"Chris--"

"Fuck," Chris says, as his car slams into a wall and flips over in a violent animated wreck. "He does too like you. Why don't you ask him?"

Justin doesn't want to answer that, because his answer isn't something he's used to saying.

"Can't ask him? Want me to?"

"No," Justin mutters, getting up again. He flops in his bunk with his headphones on, thinking about whether he should say something when they stop for lunch, or maybe when they get to the hotel, because they'll have an hour or so free before they have to go to soundcheck and then the interviews with local media and everything else that'll eat up their time until the show.

He thinks about what he should say, and what Lance's reaction will be. He hopes Lance doesn't laugh. He thinks about kissing Lance and what it would be like. It kind of weirds him out. Theoretically he's got no problem with homosexuality, but he's never really thought about it before.

* * *

Lance doesn't laugh, but he does stand in the little hall of his hotel room, giving Justin the strangest look.

"Because, uh, it'd be okay, you know. I wouldn't be, like, mad or anything," Justin fumbles, his face starting to bloom crimson.

"Uh. Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I. I don't like you like that." Lance turns, easy shift of hips under his long tee shirt, and Justin forces himself to look at the floor while Lance walks back to the suitcase on his bed.

"Oh," Justin says. "Okay."

"Maybe this is a stupid question," Lance says, and Justin snorts with amusement because nothing could sound stupider than "Do you like me?" like he just asked a minute ago, "but where'd you get that idea?"

Justin slouches against the wall, his hands stuck in his pockets. "Fuckin' Chris," he says.

Lance looks up at Justin, his eyes wide and sparkling. "He did? That's interesting."

"What?"

Lance snorts, then, unable to contain the laughter. It's a joke Justin doesn't get, and he doesn't like being left out. "Fuck you," he growls, and turns to the door.

"No," Lance says, still giggling, an incongruous noise coming out of his sex voice. "It's just, you know, _Chris_."

"Never mind," Justin says and leaves, Lance laughing after him.

* * *

He gets a shower in and dresses for rehearsal, all the while thinking about things. By the time they're scheduled to meet for soundcheck, he thinks he's got it figured out. Unfortunately, he doesn't have any time to talk to Chris, but he sticks close to him on the ride over to the stadium and during soundcheck. He notices Chris giving him strange looks when he casually throws his arm over Chris's shoulder during questions, when he focuses three cans of silly string on Chris, and when he grabs Chris and hauls him onto a golf cart to ride around the stadium.

"Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch, Justin, lay the fuck off!" Chris finally barks, and Justin smiles to himself as he watches Chris stomp away after jumping off the cart.

* * *

After the concert, they get to head back to the hotel because they don't have to leave until the next morning. Joey's talking about going out; Chris leans forward in his seat and talks about where he wants to go. Justin sits down next to Chris, casually drapes himself on Chris and puts his chin on Chris's shoulder. Chris shrugs, his compact body rippling a little as if he's trying to throw Justin off. Justin clings well, though. Chris finally gives in, slumping slightly in the seat, and Justin takes the opportunity to snake his arm around Chris's waist. He feels Chris go very still.

 _Aha_ , he thinks.

"So, you lied to me," he says, while he's in Chris's room waiting for him to get ready.

"Did not," Chris says. "Are you still harping on me about Lance?"

No. "Yeah."

"Give it a freakin' rest, and quit bugging me. Honestly." Chris emerges from the bathroom with his hair spiky, a ripped t-shirt over loose leather pants, clunky shoes, and Justin realizes that he's stopped breathing for a moment. He isn't even a little weirded out by the thought of kissing Chris. He actually likes it. Thinks that it should bug him, but it doesn't.

"Nope," he says calmly, leaning against the wall. He's hot tonight and he knows it, and he knows how to stand with a hip thrust forward so that he radiates sex. It works, too, Chris flicking a look at him and then pointedly elsewhere, a sharp intake of breath punctuating his stomp over to the desk to get his wallet.

"What do I have to do to get you out of my hair, Timberlake?" Chris grumbles.

Justin smiles; he's been waiting for this opportunity. Casually, he strides across the room, putting his hand down on top of Chris's where it lays atop the wallet. Chris's eyes dart up to meet Justin's, betraying surprise and something else Justin's been denying for a while now: need.

"Tell me why you told me that Lance likes me," Justin breathes. Chris tugs at his hand once or twice. He doesn't seem to really want to move. Up close, Chris is hot, as if the extra energy in him radiates outward constantly. "Tell me why you didn't just say it straight out."

"Would you have believed me?" Chris says, his eyes stubbornly focused on the table.

Justin readily concedes the point. "I believe it now," he says. Reaches for Chris's shoulder with his free hand, feeling the skin warm and smooth under his palm. Chris looks up at him, eyes narrowed a little.

"I don't think you're ready," Chris says. There's just enough challenge in his voice to make Justin's back go up.

"I think I am," he says, and when Chris raises a skeptical eyebrow, Justin bends his head and presses his lips to Chris's.

Chris freezes, and for a moment Justin thinks he was wrong, there's enough time to pull back and laugh it off. Then Chris presses to him, hand curving to his hip, tongue licking at his lips, and Justin's heart thumps hard in his chest.

"Sorry," Chris whispers, almost as an afterthought.

"Nah," Justin murmurs against Chris's mouth. "It's cool," and he thinks how sometimes Chris is way more devious than he ever gave him credit for, but he doesn't really mind.


End file.
